


All Hallow's Eve Party

by Elphen



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Can't think of more tags, Crowley Being an Idiot (Good Omens), Crowley Tries (Good Omens), Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Idiots in Love, Insecure Aziraphale (Good Omens), Insecurities, M/M, Post-Canon, Supportive Crowley, Trick or Treating, character cameos, determined aziraphale, halloween party, sixth doctor costume, sorta bamf aziraphale, tag help, tenth doctor costume
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-04 00:27:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21188501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elphen/pseuds/Elphen
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale get an invitation to attend Adam's Halloween Party the October after the world didn't end. Crowley is less than enthused, at least about the 'having to dress up' part. Aziraphale seems much more interested, however, and, with a bit of help, finds something for both him and Crowley to wear. Something quite...different, to say the least.It might even push them a bit further along in their relationship.





	All Hallow's Eve Party

**Author's Note:**

> I can't write summaries to save my life, it seems. Sorry, I hope you'll give this a chance regardless.  
I know it's a few days to Halloween yet but as this is MY Death Day (and yes, it is), I wanted to get this out today.  
I got the idea after my brain superimposed Aziraphale's face on the sixth doctor and I could not stop giggling for a good long while. So, of course it became a fic. Oh, well, I had fun writing it and I hope you will reading it.  
It's probably a mix of book and series again, apologies.  
There are no betas for this, it's all my fault.

It turned out, when Crowley asked about it afterwards, that it had been Adam’s idea.

He should have known that if it was anyone’s, it would be Adam’s idea.

It had started ever so innocently, really, a fact which ought to have clued him in straight away that something was fishy enough to be seafood-y.

They had received invitations to a Halloween party, hosted by the Young family – to call them ‘The Youngs’, even in his head, made them sound like a forgotten sixties band and honestly, living through the sixties had been quite enough, thank you.

It had been an actual, physical invitation, too, in an envelope and everything, which was probably just as well, given Aziraphale’s track record with modern technology. He didn’t have an email address or even a computer that could hook up to the internet. Not even a modem, for all that he claimed it was more than enough for what he needed.

To be perfectly honest, Crowley would in hindsight have been quite happy to make sure that the angel didn’t receive any invitation at all, physical or digital – his own he could’ve easily deleted or ripped apart, solving the issue before it had time to manifest. Though that would have resulted in an undoubtedly disappointed Antichrist, seeing as he’d sent the invitations special, and a cross angel once he found out what the demon had done – and Crowley was in no doubt that he would find out, sooner or later – so perhaps not.

The question of how exactly Adam had known where to send the invitations, both to Crowley’s flat and Aziraphale’s bookshop was easier answered than the why of it. After all, the kid had known enough about them to restore to them what had been lost…with a few tweaks, admittedly, but still. Compared to that, and the rest of it, knowing the addresses of two supernatural being were rather small potato, wasn’t it?

No, the why of it was what puzzled Crowley more. It wasn’t as though they’d exactly gotten to know each other that very brief time they’d spent together. The priorities had sort of been elsewhere, as it were.

Granted, he had said he knew all about them when he’d first noticed them out on the airfield and the demon could easily believe that. But that did not translate to wanting to spend time with them afterwards and especially not inviting them to a dress-up party

Aziraphale seemed slightly confused but mainly delighted when he opened the invitation and saw what it was.

“Well, now, would you look at that?” he said out loud as his eyes scanned the page he was holding.

“What’s that?” Crowley asked, sauntering over from where he’d been messing with the order of the books.

He might not be on Hell’s side anymore and didn’t need to inconvenience anyone on a small or grand scale, but there were such things as habit. Besides, it got him a grumble from the blond and possibly a stern look, which was more adorable than anything.

“I have been invited to an All Hallow’s Eve party.”

Crowley fitted himself to the back of the blond, resting his chin on the other’s shoulder, pushing his hand into Aziraphale’s coat pocket. “Halloween, angel. They call it Halloween these days. It’s mainly costumes and candy, having a bit of fun. Not very religious at all.”

Bloody hell, imagining Aziraphale turning up expecting quiet reflection or the like and getting a group of kids hyped up on sugar instead…actually, that was a not unamusing thought but no, best not.

“As I recall, the antics that surround that particular holiday has never been entirely…pure, much as their current iteration, in this country as well as abroad, likes to pretend that it was,” Aziraphale returned, seemingly not bothered at all. “But then again, it seems like that was the case for any holiday. People will take any excuse for a bit of revelry, won’t they?”

“And the rest. Human nature,” Crowley agreed.

There was a pause that seemed to stretch between them. The beginning of a song, half-forgotten but not quite gone, glided its way out of Crowley’s mouth.

_Soul Day, Soul Day, we be come a' souling._  
Pray, good people, remember the poor,  
And give us a soul cake.   
Soul, soul, a soul cake!

_Please, good lady, a soul cake!_  
An apple, a pear, a plum or a cherry,  
Any good thing to make us merry.  
Soul, soul, a soul cake!  
Pray we for a soul cake!  
One for Peter, two for Paul,  
And three for Him who made us all.

It wasn’t intentional and certainly had no ulterior motives, it just kind of slid out from his memory, all on its own. Out of the corner of his eye, even hampered a little as it was by the metal guard and the position of his head, he could see a pained expression flitter across the angel’s face, and he felt like kicking himself.

“Sorry, didn’t mean – “

“No. No, of course, you didn’t. That isn’t – is that the original song?”

“Dunno if there is such a thing, different versions and all, but I think that one is old, at least. Seem to recall it was collected by some bloke, they did that in those times – you’ve probably got that somewhere around here.”

Crowley was of the belief that Aziraphale must have pretty much everything ever published stashed onto some shelf somewhere and was unshakeable in it no matter how the blond claimed that the idea was ludicrous.

Aziraphale’s expression went from pained to thoughtful. “You know, I do believe I might – what was the man’s name?”

“Can’t recall. Holmes? Or Chesterfield? Does it matter?”

“Not really, no.”

The silence returned, but it settled into something more…relaxed than before as they stood there, looking down at the piece of paper held in plump hands. Crowley did at some point slid his arm around the other’s waist and Aziraphale’s hand moved down to cover his.

“Then the ginger asked, “So?”

“So what?”

“Are we going?”

“We?” It might have been hurtful to have Aziraphale question it like that, but Crowley didn’t take it as such, among other things because he knew the other and could hear the honest confusion in there.

“Yeah, both of us. Look, it says both our names on it.” Crowley pointed with a finger. “Mind you, mine does as well.”

“Yours? You mean he’s sent it to both of us? Why?”

“Dunno. Suppose he wanted to make sure one of us got it.”

“Yes. Perhaps so.” Aziraphale smiled softly. “Oh, he is rather sweet, isn’t he?”

But Crowley was focused on something else. Something that he hadn’t clocked on his own, for whatever reason.

“He’s asking us to come in – in fancy dress?” He didn’t splutter. He did not. “Us?”

“Well, guising is the custom for such things, I understand, even nowadays, and we have been quite specifically invited. It would hardly be entering into the spirit of the thing not to do it.”

Crowley made a face at that, which Aziraphale couldn’t see.

“We could always just not go.”

Aziraphale turned his head to look at him. “Most certainly not. We have been invited and we are going. End of discussion.”

“Oh, yeah? And you don’t wonder why the kid wants to have anything to do with us after the last time he saw us?”

“We did help.”

Crowley made a noise that might’ve been agreement and might’ve been non-committal. Had they really? He supposed, in a way, though it was undoubtedly Adam doing the heavy lifting, as it were. And his friends, of course, defeating the Four Horsepersons.

“Still doesn’t mean he’d want to see us again – and that’s not even counting the apparent fact that he remembers us, after he said it was best if everyone forgot.”

“He was the Antichrist.”

“Still is.”

“Didn’t he rewrite that?”

Crowley’s grimace at that quite eloquently expressed ‘I don’t know’.

“Of course, he might not have included himself in that,” Aziraphale mused. He then sighed. “Whatever the case, it seems he does remember and does want us to be part of his celebration. I’d say it’s the least we can do after everything he’s been through, at only eleven.”

“We didn’t make him the Antichrist.”

“No, but we did have a hand in it all.” A pause. “Even if it was mainly because we got it wrong.”

“Eh…yeah.” A longer pause. “Alright, fine, we’ll go. I am not doing fancy dress, though.”

He said the last part with firmness. With finality. He was not going to dress up like some silly creature either out of history or fantasy. The former kind of lost its appeal when you’d been part of history and as for the latter…that got a bit too close to his real nature, so no thanks.

It was only a few moments afterwards that he noticed Aziraphale hadn’t answered beyond a noncommittal hum. In hindsight, that should’ve worried him, but right then and there, all he did was press a kiss to a soft cheek, which got him a pleased hum.

He then wandered off to finish what he’d started. After that, he figured he would spend an hour or two stretched out on the sofa, just to wind down. Maybe after that, he’d take Aziraphale out for dinner.

Being able to do what he wanted, without having to consider whether Hell would pop up and interrupt him…that was still a novel enough experience that even the smallest things were wonderful.

He didn’t notice that Aziraphale, who had brought the invitation with him when he sat down at his desk, was quiet for a long time, worryingly so. Consequently, he didn’t see it when something else fell out of the envelope, something that most definitely hadn’t been in his.

Had he known what had been on that extra piece of paper, he might’ve been able to intercept what happened. At the very least, he wouldn’t have been so unprepared for it, which would’ve been something, too.

* * *

This was at the end of September. It would be plenty of time until the party at the end of October, even for acquiring some costumes.

Or rather, it would be more than enough if someone wasn’t given an idea of what he and his partner could turn up for the party as, an idea that had at first puzzled him. Then, once he had managed to find out what was meant – which meant quite a roundabout search as he had no idea what to search for or where to do it, but in the end he pulled it off – he had been quietly intrigued and delighted at the outcome.

To get that done in such a small amount of time, though…one was quite elaborate, wasn’t it? It was rather nifty, he thought, but it would require a lot of time, he would’ve thought. Certainly, it would take more time that they had available.

Not that he planned on doing it himself. Good grief, no. He kept his clothes in tip-top condition, that was true, but he did not go around darning them and as for making them, well…he had always bought his clothes at a tailor or whatever equivalent had been available. That wasn’t going to stop now.

He could miracle it into existence, of course. That was a definite option. It was probably the quickest and easiest, too, and would make it much easier to hide it from Crowley until the day came. Indeed, that way he could even miracle it onto him when they were in or getting out of the car as they arrived, leaving the demon with no option but to stick with it, lest he disappoint the ones who saw him in costume.

That would not be fair on him, though – and besides, Aziraphale had other ways he could persuade his demon if need be, didn’t he?

And the angel very much wanted to have it made by actual humans. Perhaps he might alter and tweak a few things, especially given he hadn’t got the exact measurements of the lanky figure – he had a good eye but didn’t know how that translated into sewing terms – but he had not miracled clothes into existence ever before and he was not going to start now.

Well, that didn’t necessarily need to be a problem, did it? All he needed to do was apply a little…persuasion round the right shop or two and Robert was his uncle. Or something.

He gave an excited wiggle where he sat, forgetting entirely that he wasn’t alone in the shop.

What’s with you?” Crowley asked, looking over at him from his position sprawled across a chair, his head resting more on the ground than the chair. Somehow, the sunglasses stayed on.

“Honestly, dear, chairs are there for a reason. You might sit up properly.”

“Don’t see why,” Crowley drawled, stretching where he ‘sat’. “Answer the question.”

“What question would that be?”

“You heard me. You were wiggling. You only do that when you’re excited about something.” There was an edge of suspicion in the voice.

_Oh, dear. I’d best come up with something plausible, hadn’t I?_

“I thought I would go and try this little Spanish restaurant that’s just opened, it looks quite simply delicious.”

He must’ve gotten away with it since there was a moment’s silence then a grin from the serpent.

“Really?” he asked as he sat up in one movement that should’ve made him grasp something for balance. “Well, then, best get going then, hadn’t we?”

“Oh. Yes. Of course. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me yet.” The hint of a smugness edging into the grin made Aziraphale huff but then he smiled.

Oh, yes. He had a plan now. All he needed to do was run a little errand once Crowley was busy with something or other. He was sure that if you explained the situation and explained it…well, they would be very receptive to his commission.

They were going to look absolutely, utterly wonderful. He knew it.

He could hardly wait. 

* * *

Something was amiss. Seriously amiss and he couldn’t figure out why that was.

Not that it was bad. The energy that had vibrated off the angel in the last week or so, halfway through the month of October, was anything but bad, but that was actually what clued him in that something was off.

Of course, Aziraphale was more than allowed to be happy and Crowley was happy in turn when he was, but there was something to this particular happiness that reeked of something being plotted. Something that he thought he was being clever about hiding.

It was in the small but pleased smiles that broke out for seemingly no reason. The twinkle in his eyes at times when he obviously thought Crowley wouldn’t catch it. It was decidedly in the small absences that were hidden as errands of some sort or another. Never the same one twice.

He did go out otherwise, of course, with or without Crowley, much as the demon did – however much time they now spent together, it would be a bit too much just yet to be joined at the hips, metaphorically speaking – but the same little air of satisfaction hovered around him whenever he had been on these particular errands. At least once that Crowley saw, he brought something home with him, too, which was decidedly not a book but was squirreled away as quickly as possible.

Crowley waffled on whether to ask him or not and eventually decided that he would.

“What’s got you in such a good mood?”

Aziraphale stilled in what he was doing for just a moment. “Am I not allowed to be in a good mood?” he said and though Crowley listened for it, he didn’t think he could detect any edge of guilt or self-consciousness.

“‘Course you are. That’s not what I meant. It’s just – nothing specific has happened to cause it so I’m just wondering what the reason could be.”

The demon got up from where he’d been contorted onto the sofa.

“Is it anything to do with what you brought home the other day?” he asked as he walked up to the other, coming right to the point.

Which turned out to be the wrong move.

Aziraphale stiffened where he stood. Not hugely so but the fact was certainly noticeable to someone who’d spent as much time around him, however long between it had been, as Crowley and he felt like an idiot for choosing wrong.

Though to be honest, he wouldn’t have thought that a question like that would illicit such a reaction. It was just an innocent inquiry, after all, and on something positive, too.

He opened his mouth to…to what, exactly? Ask further questions? Apologise? Pretend that he hadn’t asked the question at all and change the subject to something far safer?

Before he had the chance to do any of those things, or even none of them, however, Aziraphale gave a tight, yet wobbly smile, his good mood battered. Crowley still didn’t understand why that was, though.

Nor did he understand why a look of uncertainty sprinted lightning-fast across the angel’s features.

"I really don’t see how that’s – “

“Let’s go have some lunch,” Crowley blurted out, hoping that Aziraphale would hear the apology and the subject change in that one suggestion without him having to explicitly state it. That would just have been…embarrassing, to say the least.

Aziraphale turned to look at him and for a moment, the demon thought that he might refuse.

Then he nodded and Crowley breathed an unconscious sigh of relief.

As he led his angel out and made sure to treat him to the best running sushi in all of London, he couldn’t help but wonder about what exactly that had been all about.

But though Aziraphale clearly didn’t want to tell him, Crowley was sure that it was more of a case of not wanting to tell him then than not at all. At least, he hoped so.

He was right, of course.

* * *

“No.”

The word was out of his mouth the moment he saw what had been laid out for him to put on. It came out with the same firmness and finality, for the same reason, that he had initially displayed when they’d talked about the possibility of costumes.

The costume that was lying in front of him.

“No,” he repeated. He turned to look at the angel who stood beside it, hands clasped over his middle as usual and with a smile on his lips, but with just a smidgeon of worry and uncertainty lurking in his expression. “I am not wearing this. I said, no costumes.”

“But we can’t go without costumes,” Aziraphale said. “I’ve written and said that we would be there – “

“Yeah, of course we will.”

Despite what he’d said when they’d first discussed it, Crowley had no intention of not going. He’d liked Adam, for as much as he’d seen of him, and if he wanted to see them, at least this once, well…Crowley could do that, no problem.

“– and you cannot turn up to such a party without a costume. There are…” a muscle twitched somewhere, “…conventions to follow, social contracts and so on.”

The ginger pursed his lips and then made a face. “I’ll go as annoyed demon, how about that?”

The angel looked a little dejected by still hopeful. “Please, dear. It’s only for the one night – and you’ll look good in it. I had it made to your measurements.”

“You what?” Behind darkened glass, the yellow eyes widened, and his eyebrows shot upwards.

Aziraphale made a gesture with his hands which was halfway between waving and wring them. “Well, as near as I could get from personal observation and estimations, of course. I don’t know or can’t recall the correct terms, but I do recall some practices from the last time I had something made and the dear boy at the tailor was incredibly helpful. He did say it was made easier by the fact that apparently, your measurements are rather close to that of the original actor and that it was a fairly normal suit.”

“You – you had it _made?”_

Well, yes?” Aziraphale looked rather puzzled at the question.

“You – actually had it made? With needle and threat and everything? You didn’t miracle it into existence?”

“If I had, I would’ve said, wouldn’t I?” Aziraphale countered, sounding just a tiny bit sniffy at that.

“But – _why_?”

Why go to all that trouble to have it made when he could just snap his fingers and it would be there? He could even miracle straight onto Crowley’s body, if that was what he wanted.

That felt quite invasive, though, to do that to another supernatural being, let alone your partner, and Crowley knew for a fact, a comforting fact, that Aziraphale would never do that to him. It also proved that for all that Aziraphale had organised for him, he respected his demon.

“Because…well, I thought that…” Now the hands were most definitely wringing together, and an expression of apologetic guilt was on his soft face. It seemed genuine, too. “I suppose I thought that you might be more amenable to the idea if…and I did rather enjoy having it made for you. I even found you some appropriate footwear and glasses.”

He flashed a smile, one that was a little stiff but also flickering. When it faded, he sighed.

“Of course, if the idea is that abominable to you, you shouldn’t have to wear it. I’m sure they will understand if I explain it to them when we get there. I am sorry, dear, I shouldn’t have gone over your head like that. I just…oh, never mind, it doesn’t really matter what I thought, does it?” His gaze flickered down, dejected.

Crowley stared at his partner, not quite comprehending what had just happened.

And what was his objection really? It wasn’t as though he would be going as something outlandish or ridiculous, was it? The costume certainly wasn’t historical, inasmuch as the suit wasn’t…well, as a product of its supposed time it could’ve been worse. Heaven, he’d _worn _worse over the years, hadn’t he? The collars and lapels of the seventies and the shoulder pads of the eighties – and that wasn’t even accounting for the colours. Mustard yellow sprang to mind, as did pastel rainbows.

Compared to that, a blue suit with a red tie and a white shirt was practically mundane and decidedly not historical. Especially not with – were those sneakers? And a long brown coat?

It wasn’t fantasy, either, and in fact, he could possible see himself wearing it afterwards with a few alterations, what with the care and work that had obviously gone into the making of it all – and at such a time pressure, too. Crowley didn’t know much about tailoring, either, but he did know it took time to make to any kind of good standard, and three weeks or however long since the invitation had arrived wouldn’t be nearly enough.

So…Aziraphale had, if he had indeed had this made – and why would he lie about it – gone out of his way to ensure that it would be ready for what was essentially a kids’ party.

All to make one kid happy. A special kid, true, and one that they did rather owe quite a bit, if not everything, really, come to think of it, but still, it was just the one kid. In the grand scheme of things, how much did it matter whether he was disappointed?

But that wasn’t how Aziraphale thought of it.

Granted, there was probably something to the idea that he must feel incredibly guilty about trying to get Adam killed. They hadn’t discussed it, which was hardly a surprise, but whenever things had veered in that direction, Aziraphale’s expression had gone strange and…pained.

Still, it would pass, as did everything else. Thanks to Adam and his prevention of the Apocalypse, there would be time and place for it to pass. But to Aziraphale, it evidently mattered here and now and so did making up for it, to whatever degree it was possible for him to.

In that light, it certainly made sense why he would in fact go to such trouble for that one kid and in that same light, how could Crowley be that against wearing what basically boiled down to a suit, odd shoes and a long coat?

_Wait, hang on – just like that? That’s all it takes to make you do a one-eighty on this whole stance? So much for back bone._

As though it was about that. Besides the fact that he had a very…flexible backbone at the best of times, this was about making a, really relatively small, concession to something to make the person he loved happy. If he couldn’t do that…

“Oh, give it here,” he grumbled, because there still wasn’t any reason to just give over and concede entirely, was there. He reached out and grabbed it off the desk it had been lying on.

Aziraphale looked as though he had guilted him into doing it and felt bad for it. “Crowley, you really don’t have to – “

“I know that, don’t I? Not as though I’m deaf or stupid,” he said, still grumbling a little.

Holding up the set of clothes in question, he contemplated whether to bother with undressing and redressing. There would be the charm in that of giving a bit of a show, but it wasn’t the time and neither was there time to really get enjoyment out of it, not if they wanted to reach Tadfield without Aziraphale having a nervous breakdown about the speed. So, perhaps not there and then.

Especially not given the fact that it would be the first time he did get undressed in front of the angel, too, and not only shouldn’t that be a rush-job to put something else on, he wasn’t entirely certain how Aziraphale would react.

No, snapping his fingers was the far better option in this case and so he did, the outfit he’d been wearing now hanging neatly off the thick, wooden hanger in place of the ‘costume’.

He could’ve altered the outfit when he’d snapped, too, but he honestly hadn’t thought of it and was therefore quite surprised to find just how well the whole ensemble fitted him. Perhaps a bit too well, and he suddenly struggled not to think of how it was either a case of him matching the proportions of the ‘original’ a little too much or Aziraphale having a far better knowledge of his body and measurements than he would’ve ever credited. Something which was both sweet and a little unsettling, not to mention just a bit…hot, to be perfectly honest.

To cover that up, he asked, trying for nonchalant as he looked down at himself, “Who am I even supposed to be?”

He looked back up and wasn’t quite prepared for the uncertainty on the other’s face and the way it melted away into almost a beam of pride and delight.

No, scratch that. He wasn’t prepared at all.

“You look utterly brilliant in that, my dear,” Aziraphale said and the delight was abundantly evident in his voice as well. “Far better than I could’ve ever hoped for. Really embody the part, I think.”

“I – ah, ehm – thank you,” Crowley more or less spluttered, caught off guard by the compliments and the smile that was now unquestionably a beam. He decidedly didn’t turn slightly red, though. Most certainly not. He was a demon, he didn’t _blush._

“What am I supposed to be?” he repeated, trying to divert the attention and save himself just a little.

He shoved his hands in the coat pockets and had to admit that it not only felt like genuine craftmanship, they were rather good pockets – and there was something to having his hands actually go properly into said pockets in comparison to his current jeans.

“Oh, ah – I thought you would’ve known. It’s the Tenth Doctor.”

That rang absolutely no bells with Crowley. Frowning, he picked up his phone from where he’d left it on the table and searched for that name.

Up popped a whole series of photos of the same man, some of them with him in a brown suit and some in the blue he was wearing.

What he focused on more was the rather uncanny resemblance to his own face, though this was far younger-looking than Crowley’s own had ever been.

He looked back up at Aziraphale, whose beam was now tinged with slightly uncertainty at the corners again.

“How the heaven did you find someone who looks so much like me? Why this costume, Aziraphale?”

“Well, I was browsing – “

“Don’t give me that. You’d never browse for something like that. That’s apparently sci-fi, you could never be bothered.”

“That’s not true!” Aziraphale looked almost offended. “I have first edition Le Guin and Aasimov and Verne. But yes, alright, it was suggested to me.”

“Who by?”

“By whom,” the angel corrected, almost automatically, and the resulting grimace from Crowley was as automatic. “But I thought – well, I didn’t know, to be honest. They just suggested it and the description sounded perfect – and you really do look absolutely smashing in it, dear. It really suits you.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “That was a seriously awful pun, even by your standards.”

Aziraphale blinked, not comprehending. Then it clicked. “Oh. I…well, I didn’t intend that. Does that help?”

“Not really.” Crowley paused then decided to take a bit of pity on his poor angel. “It was a good pick, though. Can’t say I would’ve ever gone for it but as a costume, it’s pretty cool.”

The beam slowly broke through again and the demon would have to admit, if only to himself, that he was a sucker for it.

“Good. I’m so glad to hear it. Thank you.” There was a pause wherein Aziraphale stood and just, it seemed, took Crowley in. Then he apparently shook himself and gave a nod of decision. “Well, we had better be going then, if we’re to make it in time. It is quite a bit of way to Oxfordshire, isn’t it?”

He walked forward, presumably to head out of the shop, but Crowley stopped him when he reached his side, a hand on his arm to prevent him moving further.

“Hang on. Where’s your costume? You can’t say that we need to wear costumes and then you weasel out of wearing one yourself.”

“I do not ‘weasel’ – and you are right, we do need to.”

Crowley gave him a pointed look up and down, raising his eyebrows over his sunglasses. The angel wasn’t fazed, though.

“I will put mine on when we get there.”

“Uh-huh. I’m not that stupid, angel.”

Aziraphale stared at him for a moment, a complicated expression on his face that Crowley couldn’t decipher, then pulled free and went over to the hat stand where a garment bag hung next to the hat and scarf that had been left by a customer and never retrieved, unfortunately.

He took the garment bag down, the apparent weight of it selling that there was something in there. As the bag was white, because of course it would be white, and very opaque, it was impossible to see what exactly that something was, however.

“There,” Aziraphale said, folding it over his arm. “Do you see?”

Crowley sauntered over to the other, hands deep in lovely pockets. “All I see is a heavy bag over your arm, that’s not conclusive. Why don’t you show me?”

He reached out a hand to sneak a peek but Aziraphale moved it out of his immediate reach.

“Because it is meant to be a surprise.”

“What, you gonna dress up like Shakespeare or something? Or a ‘demon’?” the ginger asked, unable to help the slight grin.

“Not…no. You’ll see. Now we really do have to hurry if we’re to make it in time.”

“I can just speed up a bit,” Crowley said with a shrug. He would have to hand it to Aziraphale, these clothes really were comfortable.

Yes.” That one word communicated quite a lot.

The blond moved towards the door again then, but Crowley stopped him.

Crowley – “

“Just hold on a second, would you?” he asked.

He planted a kiss on a soft cheek, chaste but lingering. Even so, a faint blush crept across said cheek and its partner.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. When Crowley pulled back, without a word, the angel raised his free hand to touch the cheek in question.

It wasn’t that this was the first kiss between the two of them, though all of them had been on similar spots and of a similar chasteness, but it was one of the very few ones Crowley had been the one to instigate. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but though he wanted there to be more, as much as he was happy with this state of affairs, he was scared of ‘going too fast’ and would therefore be happy to stay where they were or move forward at glacial speed that would be acceptable.

Anything that didn’t scare off his angel.

He wasn’t quite prepared for Aziraphale to then reach out himself, to not just reciprocate the kiss on a bony cheek but to grab Crowley’s hand with his, pulling it out of its pocket and squeezing it momentarily before letting go.

“Would you be so kind as to pick up the paper bag over on the table?” Aziraphale asked. “I thought we’d better bring a few things, too, just…you know.”

Crowley had to blink at him a time or two for the words to settle in. Then, ignoring the desire to grab the hand again and perhaps interlace their fingers, he nodded quickly and went to retrieve what he was asked for.

When they got out into the car, Aziraphale put the garment bag in the back rather quickly and then settled into the front passenger seat as though nothing was out of the ordinary. He even chatted and smiled as he normally would – and made scared noises and admonishments when Crowley sped up or otherwise ignored road safety rules.

To be honest, it wasn’t all because old habits died hard, he was being true to his demonic nature or even because he liked it. All three were true but they weren’t the whole truth.

Part of it was that, when he was driving with Aziraphale, he did it because well, it was kind of cute and sometimes the angel would, in his nervousness, reach out to grab something to hold onto and that would be Crowley’s knee more often than not.

Sadly, the roads were rather clear once they made it out of London and so, while he was free to floor the acceleration, there was nothing to swerve around. Not even a ruddy deer, which was something of a miracle in itself – but not one of ethereal or occult origin, he would hazard.

But despite the seemingly amiable normalcy of the trip and Aziraphale’s behaviour, there was an edge of nervousness, or at least tension, to the angel’s demeanour, which didn’t fit. It wasn’t unlike the one he’d had when he’d first showed Crowley his costume but not quite the same.

It was clear, however, that he wasn’t intending to divulge and though the demon could needle him, he didn’t really want to start off a whole evening of having to be sociable with humans – though the fact that there’d be kids there did definitely lighten the thought – with Aziraphale being cross with him.

They were in fairly good time when they made it to Tadfield. Aziraphale swore he knew the way to the right house but nevertheless, they ended up driving around a bit, on roads that hadn’t been built for the size of a car, or carriage, like the Bentley. Not that it mattered, they got through fine and whatever scratches were on it, Crowley took care of the moment they stepped out.

Once they were out, Aziraphale looked the demon up and down and it was clear he couldn’t help the beaming smile, even though the tension hadn’t left him.

“You really ought to have the glasses on,” he said, in a thoughtful tone of voice, “but I don’t think that would be – “

“Nah, probably not the brightest of ideas, really. You gonna go in like that?”

“No, of course not. I said, I’ve got the costume and I’m going to wear it.”

“Don’t see why you didn’t put it on before we left,” Crowley remarked in a bit of a drawl, leaning against the parked car opposite the blond. “Not as though it would’ve taken a lot of time or anything.”

Busy with opening the door to the backseat, Aziraphale didn’t answer him. When he re-emerged, he was almost clutching the garment bag to him, which was odd.

“I, ah – why don’t you go on in ahead of me, dear?” he asked, in an evident attempt at making it seem light and inconsequential. “I’m sure they’d like a bit of help with the setting up, if there’s any left to be done.”

An eyebrow shut upwards, visible over the rim of the sunglasses.

“Do I look like I ‘help with the setting up’, angel? Since when – “

“No, I suppose not,” Aziraphale sighed, looking down.

That sent Crowley’s alarm bells to gently start ringing.

“Angel, what are you – why are you so reluctant to let me see your costume?” he asked, pushing himself off the car. He walked around it, so he came to stand in front of the angel, blocking his path.

“I’m not. I just…am a little nervous, I suppose.”

“About the costume?”

The blond shook his head, smiling. “About the night. Oh, I do hope we won’t mess it up.”

It wasn’t terribly convincing, but Crowley decided to let it slide. For now.

He placed another soft, chaste kiss, this time on the angel’s forehead and noted with a continued sense of surprise, not to mention delight, that Aziraphale leant into the contact.

“See you inside,” the demon said softly, giving the other the out he so clearly wanted. “But don’t disappear on me.”

It was meant as a joke, something light-hearted. What it came out as, however, was something tighter and more strained, despite his efforts. It wasn’t helped by the fact that his mind decided to flash through some of the images that had seared themselves into his mind when he had, thankfully only temporarily, indeed lost his best friend.

He tried to keep them under control, keep himself in check and push them back to where they’d surfaced from, but it was hard, to say the least.

His hand was grabbed again and squeezed, still briefly but longer than when it had been done in the bookshop.

“I promise you I won’t, dear,” Aziraphale said, his own voice soft and warm, but with an edge that said, ‘I hear you, I understand, and I am sorry’. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

“Right.”

With that, Crowley strolled towards the front door, expecting it to open for him before he got to it.

It did but that was because someone was on the other side and had, apparently, been waiting for him so they could open the door when he walked up.

That someone was Adam and for some reason, that felt better than it being anybody else but especially Mr. Young himself. Perhaps it was just that Crowley could do without being asked any awkward questions about his profession, just in case that particular bit had somehow survived the last eleven years and whatever wipe of memories Adam had bestowed. Maybe it was something else entirely.

Whatever the case, the demon felt a small sense of relief at seeing the curly-haired pre-teen.

Adam didn’t grin or anything, but he did smile a little and, when Crowley got close enough to the light coming from the lamps at the front door, his eyes evidently lit up at the sight of the ginger in his outfit, his eyes moving up and down the length and taking it all in. Which, to be honest, not only removed whatever lingering doubts and degree of…well, animosity but not quite, that he still held, but also filled Crowley filled some of the pride that Aziraphale had exhibited earlier.

“Hi,” Crowley said when he finally made it to the front door. He didn’t say anything more, just looked at the kid through his glasses.

Adam didn’t seem particularly perturbed by the slightly lacklustre greeting but perhaps he hadn’t expected anything else.

“Hi,” he replied, hands in his own pockets as he looked up at Crowley. He then tilted his head and body in something of an effort to look past the lanky figure, as if he was trying to catch a glimpse of something.

Then his smile widened and the light in his eyes brightened, visible even in the bad lighting.

Curious, Crowley turned to see who or what had managed to brighten up their young host like that.

Then he had to do a doubletake, sure that what he was seeing was an illusion or at least a trick of the almost-gone light. But no, it was true enough and real enough. Not even pushing his sunglasses up briefly – if Adam saw, it didn’t really matter, did it, all things and events considered? – to get a better look unobscured by the dark glasses really did anything to improve matters. Some might argue quite the opposite.

It was someone walking up towards the house. Or rather, it wasn’t just someone, though it was hard to recognise him in the, to put it mildly, vastly different outfit. To put it very kindly, too.

The proper word for it was…what exactly? Loud, perhaps? Yes, definitely loud. Screaming, even.

If only there had been a theme or a grouping of colours. Even a rainbow flow from one colour to the next would’ve been _something, _if it needed to be that…colourful. But no, it was a kaleidoscopic calamity of a hodgepodge, not at all helped by the fact that they weren’t all solid blocks of colour, either. There were patterns in there, including, Crowley squinted to be sure…oh, opposition, no, please no.

But yes. It was true. There was unquestionably bloody _tartan _in there, too, and quite a significant amount, too.

He could admit that he was staring as the angel drew level with him. Aziraphale’s expression told him that he was aware that Crowley was staring, was conscious and unsure about it but didn’t want to let their host know that he was – and there was, too, more than a smidgeon of what Crowley would term pride in there.

The words, the question of ‘what is that?’ sprang to his lips but he managed to bite them back before they could leave said lips. It would only make Aziraphale more uncertain and really, in front of the kid wasn’t the place to argue about it.

Oddly enough, Adam’s expression didn’t alter when the angel came up close. Well, it did but it didn’t falter. Instead, it became something close to a grin.

If Crowley didn’t know better, he thought he heard the exclamation ‘wicked!’ fall from the boy’s lips as he looked between them, which puzzled him a good deal.

“Well, hello,” Aziraphale said with a smile, looking at Adam rather than at Crowley. “How lovely to see you again.”

He didn’t mention anything about the circumstances in which they’d met last, which was probably just as well.

“Hello,” Adam replied. Then, quite incongruously, or so it seemed to Crowley, he said, “Thank you.”

The smile of the blond grew, both in width and in stability. “You are very welcome. Thank you for inviting us.”

Adam shrugged his shoulders in a sort of noncommittal way, but at the same time he was still smiling. Then the light from the doorway was blocked by a figure, though, to Crowley’s annoying relief, it was Mrs. Young rather than her husband.

Oh, hello,” she said as she looked between the frankly odd couple on her doorstep and for a moment, the demon wondered whether the invitation they’d gotten had actually been approved of by either parent. Not that it mattered, really, but it did make navigating this whole affair a bit more trick.

But then she asked, “You’re a bit early, aren’t you?”

”Ehm, yes, well, you see – “Aziraphale began.

“I asked them to be, Mum,” Adam said, looking up at her, earnest and innocent. “In case they had trouble getting here.”

“Oh. Yes, of course, dear, that’s quite sensible thinking,” she said, smiling softly. Every inch the parent that Adam ought to have. “Well, do come in, then. We’re just getting the last things ready – Arthur insists that there ought to be napkins everywhere because they’re bound to make a mess but, well, isn’t that supposed to be part of the fun?” She continued talking as she led the way inside.

Adam followed but turned to look at the two supernatural beings for a moment before smiling again. Then he was distracted by Dog deciding toad-in-the-hole made to resemble fingers poking out through earth was intended for dog food and trying to stave off his father who was not, to say the least, pleased by the turn of events, though he was also somewhat resigned to it at this point.

“She didn’t ask our names,” Aziraphale murmured to Crowley as they followed at a slower pace. “Never as much as questioned it.”

“Why would she?” Crowley asked, pursing his lips as he spoke. “If she didn’t question why they sent out the invitations – and I checked, there was a stamp on mine – she isn’t gonna question us showing up, is she?”

“But why not ask our names? We could be anybody.”

“Really, angel? In these getups,” he waved a hand between them to indicate their clothes, “are we really going to be random people just showing up?”

He didn’t mention that Adam had come out to greet them first, which sort of ensured that they were accepted by his mother. It was rather obvious, wasn’t it?

“Technically, yes, we could be.”

“Now you’re just being pedantic for the sake of it.”

“I am – oh, hello.”

They’d reached the living room where three other children were sat waiting, all in their own costumes. Well, to be honest, they were arguing about something or other but then again, the day the Them didn’t bicker and argue about something or other when the opportunity arose, something was very wrong indeed.

Once they saw the two supernatural beings, though, they too lit up.

From one of them – the somewhat larger on who’d somehow managed to get chocolate smears several place, among others underneath his ear and could’ve done with a good scrub…of indeterminate length – came a rather loud and enthusiastic exclamation of “Brilliant!”, accompanied by a huge grin.

From the boy in glasses there was a very serious, contemplative expression behind them, but the smile was undeniable.

The girl soon frowned, though, looking the demon in particular up and down.

“That’s wrong, though – the Doctor isn’t ginger,” she said, her own red hair, which had been tied up in a ponytail, swinging behind her. “And he doesn’t wear sunglasses.”

“Yes, he does,” the boy with the chocolate stains interrupted. “When he’s got that flower necklace and the straw hat on.”

“Not just then,” agreed the boy in the glasses, then turned towards the taller boy, “and that’s called a Leila, Brian, not a flower necklace.”

Crowley could see Aziraphale open his mouth, presumably to correct that it was in fact called a ‘lei’, and, catching his eye, shook his head. It didn’t really matter what the thing was called and if the boys wanted to bicker, what was the harm?

“Whatever. That’s brilliant, though.” The kid grinned even wider, if that was possible.

“Who are you, though?” the smaller boy asked and apparently, he was addressing Aziraphale.

Before the angel had a chance to answer, the girl scoffed, putting her hands on her hips.

“Don’t you know anything? He’s the Doctor too, just an earlier one than him.” With her head, she indicated Crowley. “My mum’s got a few tapes with him from back when it was on telly.”

“It’s still on telly.”

“No, it’s on telly _again._”

“Which Doctor is he, then?”

“The…seventh? Or was it sixth?”

“He’s the sixth.”

That came from Adam, who’d finally joined them in the living room, Dog in his arms. The former Hellhound was flopped out on his back in the boy’s arms, head twisted around so that it was the right side up and resting again an arm as the dog gazed out at the little assembly.

You wouldn’t have guessed that he’d been badly behaved earlier from the look of him, but in the few months since he’d become a Dog rather than a Hound, he’d quite perfected the art of small dog innocence.

“Yes. Quite so,” Aziraphale agreed, smiling at the children while trying to avoid Crowley’s gaze. “I must say, you all have got the most tremendous costumes, too. Have you been out already?”

The children shook their heads. “Adam wanted to wait.”

“Oh. Whatever for?”

“You,” Adam said simply, to both Crowley’s and Aziraphale’s surprise, letting Dog down onto the floor. “Now, Dog. Behave.”

The dog obediently sat itself down at his master’s feet, its head cocked as it took in the odd couple that it recognised. Not purely from the day on the airfield base, though whether Adam’s decree that it was better if people forgot applied to animals as well wasn’t clear, especially not when the animal’s origin wasn’t quite…earthly.

But though it no longer knew why it should recognise the ethereal and especially the occult creations masquerading as humans, quite apart from their current attire, a flicker of recognition did surface and therefore it growled softly at the nearest of the two, which happened to be Crowley.

The demon decided to hiss in turn, though under his breath.

Aziraphale grabbed his arm to stop him without saying anything as the growl intensified.

Dog. I said, _behave._” The change in tone wasn’t harsh and probably nobody else would’ve clocked that it was anything other than a human giving a dog a command. The two supernatural beings, however, both heard a soupçon of power in there that they recognised.

Ah. Well, that answered that question, didn’t it? To the extent of knowing that he hadn’t made himself entirely human, at least, when he’d rewritten the world. Though to what extent that exception ran, that wasn’t clear at all. Which was possible entirely on purpose.

Dog’s growl instantly became an apologetic whine.

Aziraphale squeezed the arm he still held, with more emphasis, and Crowley made himself stop hissing, too.

“Why would you want to wait for…for us?” Aziraphale asked Adam, sounding genuinely perplexed.

Adam shrugged. “Thought it’d be fun.”

“But why not – your parents.” Aziraphale waved a hand – the hand that wasn’t still on the ginger’s arm, something which Crowley most definite was aware of – in the direction of the kitchen. “Any of your parents, really.”

“Parents aren’t fun,” the girl countered, speaking as though he’d suggested that algebra was exciting. “They’re grownups.”

“As are we,” Crowley pointed out. Far more grownup than any human that had ever lived. Or at least, far older, which as far as many humans were concerned counted as the same thing.

Adam looked at the two of them again for a moment, that penetrating stare he had suggesting he saw and understood far more than a boy of his age should. More than any human should, really, and the angel wasn’t entirely sure that was wholly to do with his biological parentage.

“You’re different,” he said at last. He didn’t elaborate further, and the three other kids didn’t seem to need an elaboration, either.

For a moment, Crowley was then convinced that Adam had told his little gang about him and Aziraphale and what they were. It would make sense, since it had clearly been demonstrated that what they did when they didn’t know something or didn’t agree was ask questions and argue, not meekly accept it.

Well, perhaps they weren’t meekly doing it but there was nothing to indicate they would challenge Adam’s claim.

On the other hand, though, if they did know…well, they were unlikely to be scared of them even if they knew but they wouldn’t be sitting there, either. They’d ask questions, verify theories and exhibit scepticism.

Not adult scepticism, which was prone to a need to reject and mock what didn’t gel with their understanding of the world, however wrong it was, but the scepticism of childhood. One which more resembled a need to be sure that the piece they had was for the right puzzle rather than just the right way up, making it fit into the jigsaw they were assembling of the world. Their scepticism was a bit more…natural, for lack of a better word, and certainly more equal.

But it wasn’t here. Not even remotely. They’d asked questions about the costumes and if they knew they were an angel and demon, respectively, surely, they’d have better questions to ask than that?

Though given that it was children, maybe this Doctor character, whoever he was, was more interesting than a literal demon who could snap his fingers and perform miracles, both of the good and the bad kind. After all, just because something wasn’t nice didn’t mean it wasn’t miraculous, did it?

“I know my father wouldn’t ever have chosen to wear a costume like that,” the boy in the glasses said and oddly, he didn’t seem to be referring to Aziraphale’s tailor-scrap challenge of an outfit but Crowley’s. “Not without getting it all wrong.”

“He got it wrong,” the girl pointed out.

“No, he didn’t, Pepper,” the bespectacled boy said.

“The Doctor isn’t ginger.”

“So? Just because you picked a costume where the character had the same colour hair as you happen to – “

“Everyone, shut up,” Adam said, mainly calmly but just a tiny bit annoyed.

There was no soupçon of…well, anything this time, though – Crowley was listening for it, as he was sure Aziraphale was, and could not detect anything at all – just Adam knowing how his group worked and that they’d listen.

“We’re going out trick-or-treating now or else we won’t make it back in time,” he said, though he didn’t explain what they needed to be in time for, however. He looked down at the pedigree mongrel at his side and smiled. “Come on, boy.”

The Them followed him automatically, keen to see what their leader had planned for them to do now.

One angel and one demon were left behind for the moment. They looked at each other, not quite certain what had just occurred.

“We’re not going with them, are we?” Crowley asked.

“Would you rather they went out there on their own?”

“It’s a small town, it’s hardly going to be dangerous for them.”

Aziraphale didn’t reply verbally. Instead, he just made a face that communicated quite well the sentiment that while that might be the case, he wasn’t going to take the chance. Not when the Antichrist still held power.

Crowley grimaced in turn at that, understanding exactly what was meant, and so they followed. It wasn’t as though they had other things planned, was it? Who knew, it might even be interesting, if he went about it the right way.

* * *

“So…you gonna tell me where the fuck you really got this whole idea from?” Crowley said as they stood off to the side, observing the Them as they rang the doorbell on the fifth house since they’d started their little journey out to trade a look at costumes for sweets.

Mrs. Young had smiled when Adam had said they were going out and wished them good luck. She’d even handed out few buckets, though thankfully nothing orange.

As for Mr. Young, he’d considered them all for a few, long moments, then harrumphed – the demon had been a bit surprised, as he hadn’t heard someone genuinely do that since at least the 1950s – and said that he expected them to take good care. Crowley presumed he meant Aziraphale and he.

In any case, they’d been allowed to go out.

“Crowley, language!” Aziraphale scolded in a low hiss, hoping the kids hadn’t heard. It was highly unlikely given their distance, quite apart from the fact that at their age, they would have heard someone using swearwords. “And I told you that it was suggested to me.”

“Yeah, but you never said who did the suggesting. If there are ten professors – “

“Doctors and there are thirteen, apparently.”

“Whichever. If there are thirteen of those, why did you, or whoever suggested it to you, pick these two?” He paused then pursed his lips. “Nah, wait, hold on, think I can guess why on yours. Of course, you’d pick the one that was smothered in tartan.”

“Tartan is stylish,” Aziraphale claimed but even though it held the same conviction that his assertion on the subject always did, it was more than clear that he’d grown rather less confident, to say the least, about his choice since he’d gotten it. For one thing, he kept fiddling with it and for another, his smile was slightly wavering.

In fact, Crowley could, when he paused to consider it, actually trace a downward trajectory in Aziraphale’s confidence about his costume each time it had been brought up. It had been somewhat mitigated by the reaction the Them had had to it, especially Adam and his obvious enthusiasm, but even so –

Aziraphale suddenly frowned as he looked over at the children at the door. It had taken some time for it to open and though it should’ve been a relatively quick thing once it was open, they were still there – and it wasn’t because they were being inundated with sweets, either.

In fact, it seemed as though the only thing they were getting a lot of was reprimand.

The angel’s expression, which had been a mixture of hurt, slight embarrassment and just a bit defiant as well, changed almost instantly to one of resolve and indignation – to call it righteous indignation give it the wrong air entirely – as he registered what was going on. Not indignation towards Crowley or the children; his gaze was fixed firmly on the adult in the doorway, gesturing and angry.

“Will you excuse me a moment, Crowley?” he said, straightening up and adjusting the coat with resolution.

“Nope,” was the ginger’s answer, which earned him an odd look. “You don’t really think I’d let you deal with that alone, do you?”

“I am perfectly capable of handling it.”

“Not saying you aren’t. Just saying that you won’t be going alone.”

“Crowley – “

But the demon was already walking towards the children. However, he was deliberately walking slowly so that it was easy for the angel to catch up to him. Not that Aziraphale couldn’t move fast when he needed to, for all of his softness, but Crowley hoped that the gesture would be appreciated.

When he felt a soft shoulder brush against him, just a little, he couldn’t help his smile.

Then a hand reached out again and disappeared down into the coat pocket to grab his hand. This time, though, it did not squeeze and let go almost immediately, and Crowley’s heart did…not so much a somersault as a short gymnastics routine in his chest.

By the time they reached the kids, the front door was about to be slammed on them.

In an odd way, Crowley was actually impressed that the people living in the house dared to do that, considering. But then again, humans weren’t always very good at seeing what was actually in front of them rather than what they expected.

The demon cleared his throat and snapped his fingers and the woman suddenly found that her foot was stuck in the door and that she couldn’t pull it away.

She glared at the kids, completely failing to see the couple coming up to join them.

”It’s you, isn’t it?” she snapped. “It’s you who done this. It’s always you, Adam Young. You and your little gang. Always making trouble and bothering people. Not even the common sense to know when you should go away and leave decent people alone.”

“I’m sure they will,” came Aziraphale’s voice, pleasant and apparently congenial.

“Once we actually locate someone decent,” Crowley chimed in. “Might be a struggle here, though.”

That was hardly true. The whole village of Lower Tadfield was almost sickening in its wholesomeness, a relic of a never-was time, quite apart from the aura of love that still emanated from the place, according to Aziraphale’s comment when they’d driven down here. But the woman didn’t know that and didn’t need to know it, either.

“And we don’t make trouble,” the glasses-wearing kid added. “Not on purpose, anyway – and you can’t blame your foot getting stuck on us. We’ve just been standing here.”

“You did something before then, obviously.”

The angel exchanged a quick, but meaningful glance with the Them, who all looked back solemnly. Then Adam nodded, imperceptibly.

Change of tactics. Understood.

“And to what end would they do that, Madam?” Aziraphale then asked, turning his attention back to the woman.

Her head almost swivelled in the direction of his voice, finally seeming to take notice of the odd couple coming to a stop just behind the group of children. Crowley could tell the moment she took them in properly. Not that that was hard, given how she curled her lips, but he had to give her credit; that could as well be because of their, in context, outlandish costumes as the fact that they held hands.

It would just figure that that was more offensive to her.

“Excuse me?” she asked. “Who are you?”

Crowley opened his mouth but Aziraphale got there before he could say anything.

“We’re Adam’s…godparents.”

Well. There was a thing. It was not what he would’ve ever suspected he’d say, not after the whole incident with Warlock, but he supposed that they were.

Warlock. Now there was someone they ought to check up on. Or perhaps more accurately, Crowley just wanted to…to see how he was doing, really.

Granted, there had been a period of time in which their check-ups had to be somewhat more…sporadic than at the start, as they hadn’t stayed nanny and gardener right up until Warlock’s eleventh birthday, but it still…it hadn’t quite felt right, after everything, to just abandon him like that.

And Crowley could admit, if only to himself, that he missed the little bugger, too, just a little.

Maybe more than a little.

He thought he felt eyes on him and when he located their owner, it turned out to be Adam. It was only for a moment that their eyes met, but in that moment, Crowley had the distinct sense that the former – was it former? – Antichrist knew exactly what he’d been thinking about.

It was an absurd thought – or rather, it would’ve been, had it not been for the fact that this was…well, who it was. In that context, it was almost normal.

Then Adam smiled before he turned his attention back to the problem at hand. The whole incident was over before anyone else registered it.

Was that – had that been a smile of reassurance? It must have been but that wasn’t the odd thing. No, what was odd was that the demon actually did feel reassured.

Mentally shaking himself to clear it, he focused back on the scene unfolding in front of him. Where the woman was just about to kick into another gear of haranguing, with an ease that spoke of familiarity.

“Well, as godparents, I must say you could’ve set a far better example than what you have so far. The boy is – “

“A perfectly normal boy of his age,” Aziraphale cut in, calm as anything, smile firmly in place. He ignored the suppressed noise, which was a strange halfway point between a snort and a snigger, from Crowley, “and I do not see how we are anything but positive influences.”

He took a breath he didn’t need, the smile turning up just a little, a sharpness and steel to it that only Crowley actually saw but was evidently felt by the woman, judging by her expression.

“You, however, Madam, are teaching them that what they can expect from the world, from the adults who are supposed to guide them through to their own adulthood, is that you are reprimanded and treated with suspicion on the basis of what appears to be very minor past offenses, all things considered. That there can be no chance of forgiveness for past misdeeds and that you are always doomed to forever play the role that your local community has decided to cast you in.”

Though it was not in any way, shape or form intended towards Crowley, the demon couldn’t help but feel it down in his core. Not purely in relation to himself, either, though admittedly that was quite a significant part of it.

He felt his heart stutter and dance as it swelled, something which he would’ve foresworn, once upon a time, that he would ever experience. But when it came to his interactions with humans and in particular the angel Aziraphale, it seemed that the unlikely or even the impossible was feasible.

Soft hands were placed, carefully, on smaller shoulders, one on Adam’s and the other on Pepper’s. Neither pulled away, facing down the woman with quiet defiance.

For the briefest of moments, something flashed in those green eyes. The smile didn’t go away or diminish, which only added to the overall effect.

“Each human being has the potential for…for so incredibly much that it’s almost mind-boggling. Of course, that means it can be scary, even horrifying as well, but that is part of the beauty, isn’t it? It is certainly heart-warming, not to mention fortifying, all things considered, and I will not allow your small mind and petty ways to ruin things for these young people.”

All through this, the kids didn’t argue or ask questions, though Crowley, as the sort of side-line observer that he currently was, as well as a bit of extra intimidation, for what it was worth, could see that they wanted to. Very much so. But they’d had an agreement, hadn’t they?

Aziraphale wasn’t quite done. The woman seemed to wish to be anywhere else, her attempts to pull her foot free starting to get just a little frantic.

“Now, I do suggest you give them the sweets they have, I believe, more than earned. Then go in and try to make something good of your day and your life. It can only improve, can’t it?”

She nodded, reached inside for the, rather small, bowl and held it out. The kids took a piece each but Aziraphale reached in and grabbed another eight.

The woman opened her mouth to argue but shut it again the moment she made eye contact with the angel.

“Thank you,” he said, his smile cuttingly sunny. “Have a most pleasant evening.”

Crowley discreetly snapped his fingers again and the woman’s foot was free. He’d managed to time the snap just as she was trying a particularly spirited tug and as a result, she stumbled backwards as she closed the door, the remaining sweets in the bowl describing if not an arch, then at least a quite pretty fountain.

Once the door was closed, the little group looked at each other. Then, as one, they grinned, the mischief sparkling in twelve pairs of eyes, though one set was hard to see.

“Right,” the angel said as he distributed the sweets, then bent to gift Dog a biscuit that couldn’t have been in the pocket he pulled it from, “where to next?” 

* * *

There was a surprising number of houses to go to, considering the size of the village, but neither the kids nor Aziraphale seemed to mind and really, Crowley could admit it was alright. More than alright, but nobody needed to know that.

Regardless, though, it seemed that the blond did spot it.

After they’d finally exhausted the supply of houses within reasonable walking distance – Aziraphale had vetoed the suggestion that they ride their bikes further out, even when the larger boy, Brian as it turned out, had said it was no problem, they could sit on their luggage carriers, a veto Crowley had at that point wholeheartedly agreed with – they headed back towards the Young house.

“This has gone over incredibly well,” Aziraphale said quietly as he fell back a little to keep pace with the ginger, a small but evident feeling of delight and satisfaction in his voice and, when Crowley glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, in his expression.

“Yeah,” he agreed easily. He moved a little closer to the other, just to feel his warmth. Certainly not so that he could more easily slip his hand back into a plumper one at some later point, just to test whether it was the situation that did it earlier, if nothing else then in terms of duration, or something else. Most definitely not.

“You had quite a lot of fun, too, I think, my dear.”

“I suppose.”

“Suppose? They were almost besides themselves at your costume at one house – and don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that other thing.”

“What other thing?” Crowley asked, trying to sound innocent and deliberately failing.

“You know perfectly well what I mean. The decorations you turned into living beings.”

“If you don’t want a giant spider, then you shouldn’t decorate with it.”

Aziraphale gave a slightly beleaguered sigh. “It’s only a mercy it didn’t bite anything.”

“It didn’t have any venom in it,” Crowley said after a few moments, only a little begrudgingly. “They’d have been getting a rash in funny colours at most – and don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Say anything.”

The angel smiled at that, a soft, warm, quiet smile that nevertheless somehow managed to be a beam, if a concentrated one.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, softly.

Then, putting his hand on the demon’s arm to halt him rather than for a hold, he leaned up the difference in height and planted a kiss, not just on Crowley’s cheek but on his tattoo. Which shouldn’t really make a difference, all things considered, it was a tattoo, after all, not something magical, but even so, Crowley felt the difference the moment the soft lips met his skin.

It felt…

_Oh._

A hand then found its way into his as Aziraphale pulled back and this time, he clung to it as though it was a lifeline.

_Oh, angel._

They walked on for a while in silence after that, just enjoying each other’s company.

Once they got back to the house, quite a few other people had turned up in the meantime and…well, it was a party, wasn’t it?

Newt and Anathema was there, in costumes of witch and witchfinder and didn’t Newt make the cutest witch, along with a few friends and family members, both from Adam’s family as well as the rest of the Them. But though it was crowded and not really his thing, Crowley would have to admit it wasn’t…alright, it was quite…alright. Alright?

The fact that Newt actually let out quite the high-pitched noise, flailed a bit and grinned like an idiot when he saw the two supernatural beings in their costumes…well, it was embarrassing. For him, not for Crowley. Why would he be embarrassed about something like that?

He might have suspected that there was something more to his particular costume, just given the number of photos even the most casual search provided. Different photos, too, and they looked relatively recent. By human standards, too, not just in the context of what a millennia-old occult entity might term ‘recent’.

What he hadn’t been quite as prepared for was the reception Aziraphale’s costume got from the adult humans.

Pepper’s mum demonstrated why she still held onto old VHS recordings so that Pepper could know about them, making a noise and gestures much like Newt.

There were also a few questions along the line of ‘why pick that one?’ but mostly, the response was positive, with the refrain among the adults mainly being that really, the poor man hadn’t had a fair shake of the bag, had he?

More than one person was quite complimentary about the quality of the costume, remarking on the fit and accuracy as well.

By the time they were heading out, quietly so as not to attract attention – even in the most gaudy collection of colours and patterns, Aziraphale knew how not to draw attention when he didn’t want it to and Crowley beat him flat on that score – you wouldn’t have been able to tell Aziraphale had ever felt embarrassed or unsure about his costume.

His pride was one you could warm your hands on without getting burned and Crowley was proud and delighted on his behalf.

Even so, when they’d gotten into the car and out of Lower Tadfield, Crowley couldn’t help but break the silence, feeling bad.

“Sorry,” he said, looking out at the road even though at this time of night, he didn’t exactly need to. This was still Lower Tadfield, after all – all that was needed was lashings of treacle. Not that he ever _needed _to, of course, but that was hardly the point, now was it? The blackness outside the car was quite fascinating to look at, thank you.

He could hear and feel Aziraphale turn in his seat to look at him, even though he was studiously not looking back.

“Whatever are you apologising for, dear?” He could most definitely hear the puzzled frown.

“You know.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

“You do.”

“Quite honestly, I have no idea.”

He was going to make him say it, wasn’t he? Bastard. The word was ruined by the fondness it was heavily tinged with. “For making you…for making you doubt your costume, alright? Feeling miserable about it and stuff and I just made it worse.”

“What? _Oh_.”

“Yes, ‘oh’. I didn’t mean to – “

“No, I know that.” Crowley snorted in disbelief. “I do. And it is quite garish, really, but the moment I saw it, I just…well…” He trailed off though it was hard to categorically decipher the reason.

“You don’t have to justify it, angel. You liked it and that’s all the justification you need, if you need any at all. I was being a berk and I apologise.”

“You weren’t, dear.”

“Just let me _apologise_, would you?” Crowley snapped, finally turning his head to look at the other – who looked a little taken aback at the outburst. but then he smiled.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice tender. “I suppose I shouldn’t have cared what others thought, either, if I liked it.”

“Damn right,” the ginger said, turning his attention back to the road.

“Crowley.”

“What? I’m still a demon, you know – and you know what I mean.”

“I suppose, yes,” Aziraphale agreed with a sigh. His voice was still mainly warm, though.

Then, after a few moments of much more comfortable silence as they wooshed along country lanes and b-roads that would eventually take them back to larger roads and London, Aziraphale spoke again.

“Would you…would you mind terribly if I…if I kept the costume?”

Ah. Right then. Nub and crux now, was it? Sort of, anyway.

“Not my decision to make, is it?”

“No. It’s not.” There was a bit more certainty back.

“Not as though you haven’t worn something equally ludicrous over the years, anyway – that outfit at the Bastille, for one.”

“I’ll have you know that that was the height of fashion!”

“Twenty years previous at least, yes,” Crowley said, unable to keep the grin off his face and out of his voice. There it was, that was better. That was more Aziraphale.

Keeping only the one hand on the steering wheel – it wasn’t as though he was going to crash into anything, one hand or no hands, was it? – he reached the newly freed hand over and, not hesitating this time, reached over and placed it on a knee. However, he almost immediately slid it up a little to rest on top of a plush thigh.

He thought he heard a small intake of breath at that but didn’t pull his hand away.

When he felt a hand cover his gently, caressing the length of bony fingers before plumper ones slotted between them, curling around them.

“Thank you, dear.”

“Don’t mention it, angel. Should be able to fix my own bloody cock-ups, shouldn’t I?” He managed to squeeze the hand in his and the thigh beneath his hand at the same time. “This alright, though?”

“We have held hands before.”

“Yeah, but not like – you know what I mean!” Crowley said, almost cried in sudden exasperation. He turned his head, willing the Bentley to keep moving them towards home, safely, while he dealt with other things. “The – the going forward. Escalating things. Just a little. Like – that I can kiss you. Not just on the cheek. Other places. Touch you more. I know I go too fast, but – “

And he’d said too much, hadn’t he? Pushed far too far all in one go. ‘Gone too fast’ and now Aziraphale would tense up and backtrack.

Bless it, this was why he kept his mouth shut. Kept cool. He had to not to break over the years.

His hand was lifted, still interlaced with Aziraphale’s, turned and kissed on the palm, gently, ever so gently.

“I’m sorry,” the angel said, quietly, almost inaudible in the car.

“Don’t you apologise. Not after – don’t apologise.”

“But I should’ve been clearer.”

_Let me have this. Don’t take it from me._

“Aziraphale – “he began, pleading in his voice. He hadn’t noticed the car had stopped.

The angel interrupted. “I would like all of that, and more besides. I just…I suppose I was…unable to shift gear, as it were. Scared to, really. But I thought that maybe…maybe if I was in the clothes of someone else, if I could, just a little, that I might have the courage to change. Someone who’s known for change and…adaptability, even when it takes a while for him. Or so I was told. I could, perhaps – “

“And then I go and fuck it up.”

Aziraphale, who had been looking down at and fiddling with the ridiculous bow that was the neckpiece, looked up at the demon, eyes wide. “I didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t need to, did you?” Crowley paused and swallowed. Then he wet his lips. “I’m so sorry. Okay? I should’ve – “

In a sudden move, Aziraphale leant forward and kissed him. Not on the cheek or the forehead. On the lips.

It was just as chaste and sweet as before, more a press than anything, but even so, Crowley was staring at him, his whole face registering surprise, even despite the glasses.

“I – “Aziraphale began as he pulled back. That was about all he got out before he was grabbed by said ludicrous bow and pulled in for a proper kiss.

When they pulled apart, a good long while later, Crowley’s sunglasses were fogged and Aziraphale’s cheeks were a lovely shade of red.

“Crowley?”

“Not too fast?”

“No.”

“Good. Come here.”

They were somewhat delayed in getting back to London, but what of it?

**Author's Note:**

> I know I normally don't post this long things at once but I'm going to be busy in the next week, so...you get it in one. :)  
I deliberately left the Them's costumes up to imagination, I didn't forget. Apropos the Them, I have never written them before and Adam only once so while I tried, I know I probably mucked it up. :( I hope I at least didn't on the two idiots too bad.  
The souling song does exist (there's a few different versions) as did the rest. I know All Souls is November 2, but back in the day, celebrations ran, as far as I remember, from October 31 to November 2 and well...things might blur togehter a little for the demon.  
I know people hate the Sixth Doctor's costume and it is garish, I admit, but I sort of still love it because of the rainbow gone pattern-shopping. Shoot me. :)
> 
> Feedback is immensely loved and treasured as long as the criticism is constructive


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